In Passing
by PersephoneQ
Summary: Michael came and went as the years passed, always slightly different but never really changing. It was a wonder Dean even remembered his name. But when you meet an angel, even just once, its rather hard to forget.


When Michael first appeared to Dean, he didn't even know. Not even when Michael told him.

Dean was seventeen and going to a new school, trying to pretend to know what was going on in class and on the field and in his life. In reality, though, Dean was more confused than ever. He had no friends, no hobbies, no crushes. But somehow, he was the quarterback, the "most popular guy" in the yearbook, and had been asked out at least twelve times since school started.

Dean didn't understand why, but he couldn't wait to get out of there. And then Michael enrolled.

"Dean, why are you here?"

Dean didn't find it weird that a stranger knew his name. Just that they noticed how much he didn't belong here. Most people didn't. "Who are you?"

"Michael. Answer the question."

Dean didn't know what to say. "I don't know."

"Then leave." Michael said. Dean thought it over. Sam wouldn't be happy, Dad wouldn't be happier, so in the end, nothing would _really_ change.

"Thank-", he started, but Michael was gone. A week later, Dean was too.

* * *

When Dean saw him next, he was twenty one and so stressed, he was crying. Sitting at a bar, all the other guys avoided him and the bartender only moved the napkins next to him and started making drinks at the other machine.

Despite the fact that he'd ordered his favorite beer an hour ago, covered by the bartender in secret, he'd yet to touch it. He was far too preoccupied staring at the peanut shell and beer covered floor and wondering if he was really doing anything right.

"Of course you are."

Dean looked up quickly. The face he was met with was subtly different-shorter hair, combed back to look even more out of place, stubble-but that concerned little frown gave him away. Dean dropped his head back in his arms. "Go away, Michael."

"No. Not until you believe me."

Dean clenched his teeth and curling his fingers in and out. Just flexing. For now. "I don't _believe_ blatant lies."

Michael grabbed his drink and downed it with a grimace. "I always hated these kinds of places. These kinds of drinks." Michael shook his head as he put the glass back upside down. "These kinds of people."

Dean did too, but there was no use admitting that. "I _am_ 'these kinds of people'."

Michael gave him a look. "No, not at all."

Dean growled, not bothering to hide the tears pouring down his cheeks now as he whirled on the taller man. "Then why did Sammy leave, huh?"

Michael reached up and wiped the tears away for him, smiling sadly. "He didn't leave, Dean, he just took a different road. Yours and his will meet again someday and you will be happy he's done this now, then."

Dean doesn't understand, but knows somehow he wasn't meant to. These were words for tomorrow, not today. Dean tries to memorize them, savor them, but he knows that by tomorrow, he will still be lost and those words will still mean nothing to him.

"Why, though?" Dean asks.

Michael only shrugged. "Why not?"

Dean glares and starts for the punch, but notices too late and is left grasping for thin air. Michael is gone. Three years later, Sam and Dean are too.

* * *

It's on one of these days, three years later, after finding their father, that the Winchesters happen upon something bigger than they can handle. This doesn't happen often, not yet, but they manage as best as they can while they prepare for a retreat.

At some point, Dean loses sight of Sam in the spray of bullets, claws, and fangs. Soon after, he loses John too. For a split second, Dean is completely alone, completely focused on the monsters around him, and he drowns in it. So drowned is he, that it takes him two or three minutes to realize how much blood he's losing.

"Sammy!" He shouts, falling to the ground as he clutches his legs. The monsters don't care, they just jump over his huddled frame and towards the town bellow.

"Sam! Dad!" Dean shouts and hears no shouts back, no frantic footsteps to his left or right. His vision is getting twisty and fuzzy and he knows if no one comes to get him, he'll be gone before either of them can help.

So, he does the only thing he can. "Michael!"

Dean knows its unlikely, knows its been _years_ since Michael showed up last, knows there's no way Michael can hear him from all the way in _Oregon_. But he figures, you know, it doesn't hurt to try.

The cries and shouts and crazed laughs of the demons and monsters around him mix together and fade out as his vision goes black. Just before he passes out, he hears something...Laughter?

* * *

When Dean wakes up again, he's warm and the sounds of fighting are still loud in his ears, but not deafening. They must be moving farther away. He raises his head a bit and feels something prickly brush his cheek. Dean grips shoulders not his own and nearly screams, but a deep, comforting voice interrupts him.

"Calm down, Dean."

Dean deflated and after a few seconds, laid back down on Michaels shoulder. His leg still hurt and his mind still felt sluggish. "Were you really there, in Oregon?"

"For a time." Came the vague answer.

It didn't quite make sense, but Dean was quickly getting used to that. "You cut your hair."

Dean felt Michaels shoulders tense under his hands. "Is that...okay?"

Dean ran a hand over Michaels crew cut. It was short, army short, but it looked nice. Fitting. "It looks good, if that's what you mean."

Michaels shoulders relaxed and Dean imagined him smiling. "Thank you."

Dean sighed. Aw hell. "I'm...sorry."

Michaels head tilted opposite of Deans. "What for?"

"You know what." Dean growled.

Michael sighed and stopped walking. Dean begin to panic-was Michael just going to _leave_ _him there_-but then Michael started up again, this time faster. He said nothing.

"You were right. Sam and me-Dad too-we're all together again." Dean bit his lip.

Michael sighed again, this time short and light, almost like a laugh. "What is it, Dean?"

Out with it, idjit. "Did-did you...do that? Get us all together? I mean-"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Somehow, even though Dean had anticipated that answer, he still didn't expect it.

"Thanks?" Dean said awkwardly.

Michael nodded, but said nothing.

"Umm...no offense, I mean, I trust you and all, but-where are we going?"

Michael stopped again, this time turning around and loosening his grip on Deans thighs.

"I am going to drop you."

"Wait, what?" Dean asked stupidly before, predictably, he was dropped. He landed hard on his left leg, causing him to scream out in pain. Worried that the monsters would hear them, he covered his mouth and bit his lips until they bled, but curses still spilled out.

Michael gave him a disapproving look. "Don't take the Lords name in vain, Dean. That's a sin."

Dean glared so hard, his eyes hurt. "I will kill you-" He hissed.

"No, you won't." Michael said simply before kneeling next to Dean and "getting started".

With what, Dean couldn't say. All he saw was Michaels hand on his bloodstained shin, then he leaned forward, brushing Deans hair past his ear to whisper, "Don't look."

Dean grumbled-his leg still _really_ hurt-but obeyed. Michael had never lied to him before.

After a while, maybe three minutes, Michael said, voice soft and cracking, "Open them."

Deans leg was healed. No scar, no blood, nothing but pale skin and hair.

"But-I can still feel it..."

Michael nodded. "It will pass. Give it time."

Dean scowled. "I don't have time. I have to get back to Dad and Sam-"

"They will do fine without you. My brothers are with them."

Dean sighed and nodded. He trusted Michael and he needed the rest anyway. That walk had tired him. "I meant what I said. I'm sorry I hit you."

"You didn't hit me."

Dean scowled. "Yeah, but I was going to. Either way, I'm sorry. You were just trying to help, I was upset. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Michael looked somewhere over Deans shoulder, face dark. "I am used to yelling."

"Yeah, me too." Dean said, thinking of the many long years he'd spent hiding in his room or behind a magazine, pretending he couldn't hear his brother and his dad hating each other. Now that they were together again, though, not much had changed. They almost yelled _more_.

Michael gave him a look, then leaned forward and put a hand on Deans cheek. Dean tried not to lean into the touch and failed. Dean suddenly realized how close they were. _Really close..._

"Dean?"

Dean didn't know when his eyes had closed, but when he opened them again, Michael was nowhere to be seen. Typical.

"Dean! Are you okay?"

Dean frowned, felt something in his chest cringe, and sat up, taking Sams hand. Almost immediately, Dean felt the familiar stab of pain in his leg. He leaned briefly on Sams shoulder, then pushed off and hobbled ahead of him.

"Where were you?" He asked quietly.

"Fighting? Where were _you_, Dean? We looked everywhere for you-"

Dean shook his head and got into the backseat, laying down and spreading out. His dad in the drivers seat gave him a look of equal parts worry and anger, but said nothing.

* * *

Dean might've had his eyes closed, but he'd heard that voice before and it wasn't a voice he'd easily forget.

"Michael?"

"Dean." Michael said again, but somehow more. Dean didn't just hear it, he felt it crawling in his skin and digging through his bones, straight to his soul. Dean could almost cry. "Open your eyes."

Dean did and was nearly blinded by his friend and savor. "You-I-Michael, are-"

A laugh like tinkling bells rang through Deans ears and if he wasn't already crouched on the floor, he's sure he would've been weak at the knees. "Go on, Dean, spit it out."

Dean swallowed and breathed out, "You're beautiful."

Michael laughed again and moved forward until he was right in front of Dean, then crouched down. Dean was surrounded by warmth and light as Michael brought a hand up to touch Deans cheek. Dean didn't even try to restrain himself.

"No Dean, you are."

Kisses from angels are peculiar things, mostly because they never happen. Ever. It wouldn't be the first rule Michael had broken for Dean.

"Thank you." Dean said when burning lips left his, leaving a taste like heaven on his tongue. But Michael was gone. This time, Dean swore, he would follow him.

* * *

"You look like hell." Dean said, smirking.

Michael turned around and smiled wearily, patting the ground beside him. Dean joined him and was quiet as they basked in the sunset and the mountains and the beauty of _finally_ being together again. It had been a year. Dean was older, felt older, but Michael looked the same as always. Longer hair, darker eyes, more wrinkles, but just the same.

"War does that to a man."

Dean nodded in agreement. "I could've helped."

Michaels smile strained and his eyes steeled over. "That may be true, but I never would've let you."

"You can't protect me forever, you know." Dean said a while later, lightly because even if Michael really couldn't, that didn't mean he didn't _want_ him to.

Michael turned from the sunrise and looked at Dean for the first time since he arrived. He looked close to tears. Dean sighed and pulled him in, letting the angel cry on _his_ shoulder for once.

When Michael finished, he hugged Dean back tight, then started to fade, right in Deans arms. Instead of stopping him, Dean only whispered, "When will you be back?"

With a smile, Michael answered, "When you need me."

* * *

Dean was drunk and honestly, he wouldn't know how to do this anyway. But he knew in that moment in the parking lot of Harvelles Roadhouse that if he didn't do it _now_, he'd never do it.

So, he carefully set the half-full bottle down, got on his knees, and closed his eyes. For added effect, he clasped his hands together and tried to imagine Michael, the last time he'd seen him. Long brown hair, straight nose, stubble, brown eyes, small smiles.

Dean smiles just thinking about him. Then, he got down to business.

"Dear Michael", he whispered. "It's me, Dean. I don't know if you can hear me, but you could in Michigan, so... God, I suck at this. Anyway, I miss you. And I know you said you'd only come back if I needed you but, uhh, I think I might need you in a different, more..._long-term_ way. Like, forever. If you could do that. Thanks."

Dean sighed when he finished and suddenly felt exhausting. Was praying always that hard? Dean chuckled. He could see why John never did it.

After a moment of just watching the skies-maybe for Michael, maybe just for fun-Dean got up, dusted himself off, and grabbed the beer bottle off the concrete. Funny thing, it was empty. Dean smiled and looked back up at the sky. Maybe angels weren't so bad after all.

* * *

"I need you." Michael announced the next time they met. Sam nearly pissed his pants.

"Okay." Dean said, dropping the sandwich he'd been eating in Sam's lap and getting out of the car.

"Woah, woah, hold up." Sam shouted, grabbing Deans arm.

"Samuel?" Michael said, frowning.

Dean gave Michael a look. "It's just Sam."

Michael nodded and Sam interrupted again. "So-so, you're just gonna go? Just like that? Do you even _know_ this guy?"

Michael smiled, which he did a lot now, and held out a hand to Sam. "My name is Michael. I love your brother."

Sam dropped Deans sandwich. "Dude! Careful!"

Sam ignored Dean, staring only at Michael. "Michael as in the archangel? Michael, the one who rescued Dean from hell and then just..._disappeared_?"

Now it was Michaels turn to give Dean a look. Dean turned red and grumbled. "What? I didn't think it mattered, what with you only being here every now and again."

Michaels features softened and he grabbed Deans hand. "I apologize. I heard your call."

"Really? _Wow_. Sort of embarrassing now, though."

Michael shook his head. "Not at all. It was...sweet." Michael smiled.

Sam coughed and gave Dean a look, then held his hand out. "If you're going on a joyride with Feathers, I'm gonna need the keys."

Dean grumbled again, but handed them over. "You take good care of her."

Sam hummed but gave Michael a look like he was thinking of exactly the same thing. Michael, without being told agreed and nodded. Sam nodded back, then stuck the keys and the ignition and was out of the Lincoln Park parking lot in under five seconds.

Michael turned to Dean, smiling in a weird twitchy way. Was he...nervous?

"You okay?"

Michael nodded, then shook his head. "I am not familiar with human courtship. I do not know what 'comes next'."

Dean took a few seconds to figure that one out. "Wait, you-you're _courting_ me? _That's_ what you needed me for?"

Michael nodded again, shoulders tense. "Is that acceptable?"

Dean smiled, then laughed and laughed and laughed. When he was done, he wrapped his arms around Michaels shoulders and kissed his cheek, then his nose, then his lips, long and slow.

"Is that a yes?" Michael asked when he pulled away.

Dean laughed. "Yes, forever."

Michael nodded. "Forever."

* * *

A/N: I actually really hated this until I re-read it. It's not bad.

love, Cath


End file.
